


our love is kept alive by electricity now

by yunmin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, Politics, Wedge is Scottish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: They meet in the comments section of a blog post about D H Karver’s latest romance novel.Eighteen months later, they finally meet in person.





	our love is kept alive by electricity now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosepetalfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalfall/gifts).



> Written for a tumblr send me a pairing + an AU setting challenge. This pairing started as an excuse for crack and smut, and here I am, having actual feelings.
> 
> The title is from the poem [While My Love Sleeps I Cook Dinner](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06ZfNJYT4t0&feature=youtu.be) by Talia Young, and is a beautiful beautiful poem about love over long distances in the modern era. I fully recommend listening to it, it captures the wonders and frustrations of such a thing brilliantly.

They meet in the comments section of a blog post about D H Karver’s latest romance novel.

Looking back, it’s certainly an odd start to a relationship. The fact that it goes anywhere is something near a miracle.

But six months later, Wedge spends almost his entire day in contact with her. She’s the first person he messages when he wakes up, and the last person he talks to before he goes to sleep. His friends are all highly bemused by the situation, wondering why Wedge is now almost surgically attached to his phone, wondering who the mystery woman is.

Wedge doesn't have an answer to that.

He doesn't really know himself.

.

**Wedge Antilles:**

Morning, Mon. Sleep well?

**Mon**

Shit.

… I might have worked all night.

**Wedge Antilles**

It's still morning? :D

Tho that's not good, what on earth were you doing? Something important enough to justify you being up all night?

**Mon**

In some ways.

I’ll live Wedge, this is hardly the first time.

**Wedge Antilles**

I know, but doesn't mean I like it. You should take better care of yourself.

**Mon**

As you keep telling me.

Too bad I don't actually have you to look after me.

**Wedge Antilles**

Physically dragging you to bed is beyond me, I’m afraid.

Go have something to eat and then try and get a nap, okay Mon?

**Mon**

Can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.

He still doesn’t know much about the particulars of her life, what she does for a job, what her last name is, what she looks like. None of it matters, because he also knows her as well as he knows anyone else in the world. He tries to stop himself falling for her too hard, knowing that he’s only got a limited picture of who she is. But the feelings are there, no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

It doesn’t matter what she looks like, or what she does. He knows the truth of her, and that’s all he needs to know.

He sent her a photo of himself, seven months in. It's a candid one that Tycho snapped, of him at one of their community activism events. It’s reasonably flattering, though he only meant to send it so she had an idea of what he’d looked like.

**Wedge Antilles**

What I did today.

**Mon**

Is that you, on the right?

**Wedge Antilles**

Yeah.

… why?

**Mon**

You’re very handsome.

Wedge remembers blushing. He remembers trying to wave her off, but she’d been quietly insistent on the truth of it. He’d asked for one in return, but she’d never sent one back. 

.

**Wedge Antilles**

So. Look. No pressure, but my friends and I are coming to London in three weeks for personal reasons, and I was just wondering -- do you want to have dinner?

I understand if you don't, I know you're busy.

And I’m just some random guy off the internet.

**Mon (Mothma? Unconvinced)**

Wedge you’re an important part of my life, not some random guy off the internet.

When are you here? There might be something I can’t get out of, but I’ll try.

**Wedge Antilles**

25th May. It's a Friday.

You probably have better plans for a Friday than me.

**Mon (Mothma? Unconvinced)**

Can't think of anything better than spending time with you, don't put yourself down.

I’ll have to check with my aide.

Am I good to pick the restaurant? Where are you staying? What do you like?

**Wedge Antilles**

I’m easy :D Surprise me.

.

Wedge texts Mon throughout the day, though they are both busy, and the replies are sporadic. As the day draws to a close, Wedge feels the butterflies starting to form in his stomach.

He’s not nervous. Well, maybe a little, but it’s a thrill, not a deep routed anxiety. He can’t quite believe he’ll finally get to meet her.

All his friends know where he’s going. He leaves to his fair share of ribbing, but he really couldn't care. He makes his way down the escalators to the tube, cursing the lack of signal means he can't text Mon, his usual strategy to deal with his dislike of crowds and hustle and bustle.

He drums his fingers against the overhead rail as he waits for his stop.

Mon has picked a restaurant not far from the Palace of Westminster. It makes Wedge wonder whether he’s got it right about her identity. He's starting to think that it isn't a coincidence she shares a name with the leader of the opposition party. He doesn't really want to think about it that hard, hasn't pressed because he doesn't want to know. He’s trusted that she’ll tell him what he needs to know.

Now he will find out anyway.

He climbs up from the tube, around the corner, checks his phone. He has a text from her confirming that she’s there. He sent her a photo, a selfie snapped off earlier that day, so she knows what he looks like. He hopes that she’ll spot him.

He pushes the door open. It's more rustic than he figured, closer to a pub than a restaurant. He glances round, looking for a woman at a table on her own. He can't see one clearly. He moves into the tables, trying to look in the crevices.

“--- Antilles?”

A hand is at Wedge’s elbow. It’s not a woman’s hand, it’s a man. He smiles warmly at Wedge. “Yes?” Wedge replies.

“Mon’s this way, if you’ll just follow me.” The man leads Wedge to a table behind a partition. There’s a woman sitting at the table. A woman who is familiar.

A close crop of red hair sits atop a long, pale face. Her shirt -- as always -- is white, with a single red and silver broach pinned to her chest the only spot of colour. Her mouth is pulled into a soft smile. She’s known for her neutrality, her position as a figurehead, the uniting front of her party. There are others who fight her battles for her.

“You know, you could have told me,” Wedge says, as he sits down. “I had my suspicions.”

Mon tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She’s nervous. “I didn’t want to scare you off,” she says. “And then… it just seemed easier to explain in person.” She smiles at him, and Wedge feels his stomach flip. Then she turns. “It’s okay Sinjir. He’s clearly exactly who he says he is.”

Sinjir, the man who brought Wedge over casts an asparaging eye over Wedge. He crosses his arms. “If you say so. He doesn’t look like a threat. Call me if you need anything.”

He turns on his heels and leaves, and finally, Mon and Wedge are left alone.

.

Fifteen minutes in, Wedge’s phone goes off.

“I’ve got to get this, sorry.” Wedge answers it, and lifts it to his ear, knowing that despite the caller ID saying Tycho, it could be any one of his friends who’s decided to give him an out. If he doesn’t pick it up, they’ll all come down there. “Yes?”

“Here is your fifteen-minute-emergency get out call, Hobbie is primed to make up some Grade A bullshit if you need it.”

It’s Wes. Of course it’s Wes. “Tell your boyfriend to stand down, I’m fine.” Wedge runs a hand back through his hair. “I’ll keep you guys posted on when I’ll be home, don’t do anything stupid whilst I’m gone.”

Wedge hangs up. He puts his phone back in his pocket. When he looks back up, Mon is giving him an odd look, one eyebrow raised. “My friends,” Wedge explains with a wave of his hand. “Promised to call and give me a reason to get out of this if it wasn’t going well.” Mon’s eyebrow remains raised. “Their idea,” Wedge tags on. “I knew it would all be fine.”

“I’m glad you have friends who look out for you like that.” Mon’s words are soft. There’s an undercurrent that Wedge is familiar with, having felt it many times himself. There’s only so much you can do for someone who lives that many miles away from you. It’s reassuring to know that there are people in their corner, who can be there for them when all you can offer is kind words down a line.

Wedge fights the urge to reach over and take her hand. “They’re good eggs. Pain in the backside too, but they’re good.” Wes, Tycho, Hobbie – they’re the best friends a guy could ask for, really. And then Wedge laughs to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Mon asks.

Wedge gets himself under control. “You know how we met? Talking about D H Karver’s novels?” Mon nods. “This is ridiculous, I’m warning you.”

“Go on.” Mon smiles again, and Wedge is determined to make her smile as much as he can that evening, because her smile is so delightful.

“So, it’s a pen name, we all know that. But no one knows who she is, she’s mysterious as fuck—” Mon laughs as Wedge swears without a care. “You know why? She’s actually my friend Hobbie.”

Mon looks at him for a moment, trying to decide if he’s serious. “Your friend Hobbie, the same one who took ten years to realise he was head over heels in love with his best friend, is famed romance novelist D H Karver?”

“Apparently so.” Wedge shrugs. “I only found out last week, when the guys were interrogating me about you – sorry, I tried not to say too much – and Wes burst out into violent laughter when I told them how we met.”

Mon stares at him for another long moment, before her face crinkles up and she starts laughing. It’s joyful and jubilant and Wedge can’t help but join in. He laughs with her, grateful that he’s with her in that moment, to see her react and not to have to rely on the tools of text and emoji for her to convey her delight. “That’s amazing,” she says. “What a coincidence.”

.

They finished eating long enough ago that they should probably be moving on. Dinner has been more delightful than Wedge ever even dreamed it would be. At some point, he slipped over to Mon’s side of the booth to show her some pictures from his day, and he never left. He’s stayed by her side, the two of them brushing against each other constantly, sharing touch with ease.

He watches her. More than he probably should. He wants to remember her, the way her face lights up as she talks, so he can picture it later. If he looks long enough maybe he can commit her to memory.

She pauses in the middle of her speech. “Sorry, I’m going off on one again.” She looks back over and Wedge is caught staring.

He ducks his head, feeling as the heat covers his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Doesn’t want to be that guy, who can’t clamp down his feelings, who makes it weird.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Mon says. She places a hand on his knee, squeezing softly, and then runs her hand along the outside edge of his thigh.

Wedge is from a circle of touchy-feely friends, who live in each others pockets and will fit four of them on a two-person sofa. But this feels different. It’s not some bullshit heteronormative nonsense, where it’s different between a man and a woman, because Wedge is about as straight as a winding country road. It feels different because he wants Mon, because there is this connection between them, and Wedge hopes to hell and back he’s not misreading this.

He looks back up at her. Her smile takes his breath away. He tries to gather up the courage to say something, thinking if there is a moment where he could, it is now. But the words stick in his throat. The uncertainty haunts him. He’d rather things just stayed like this. He doesn’t know what to do if she disappeared out of his life.

“Wedge?” she enquires.

“It’s okay, carry on.” Wedge smiles back at her. He reaches for her hand, the one that’s on his leg, tangling her fingers in his. “I like hearing you talk.”

.

They talk a little while longer, and then Mon suggests a walk, around and along the river. Wedge, who has no wish for this night to end, agrees readily. Mon takes care of the check, despite Wedge’s offer to go half with her – she chose the place, she pays, that’s what she says. He can pay next time.

Wedge’s heart jumps at the thought that there will be a next time.

Mon makes a striking figure in her long white coat. She’s taller than him, and gains another inch or so from the low heels on her shoes. Wedge doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t have many preferences when it comes to looks. Mon is an objectively lovely woman – she’s not a classic beauty, but there’s something about her features, her character, that makes people believe in her, to want to do anything for her. Wedge knows her better than that, and the feeling only gets worse as you know the strength of her heart and convictions.

(She’s older than him too. That doesn’t bother him either. His friends have always says he’s an old soul.)

They step out, and there’s a chill in the air now that comes with the late evening. “You know around here better than I do,” Wedge says, looking at the way the warm light from the streetlamps catches in her hair. “Lead the way.”

“Alright.” Mon offers her arm. It takes Wedge a moment to realise she’s offering it to him, and then he accepts it, linking his arm through hers.

They settle into step easily. Mon points out relevant important landmarks when they pass them, but mostly they walk in quiet. She leads him round, and then down to Westminster Bridge. They stop halfway across it, pausing to watch the river.

“I don’t like London much,” Wedge admits. Mon lives here, represents one of the many London constituencies, and he doesn’t know if she’ll take offence. “It’s too busy for me. But from here, I guess I could.” It’s quiet, and he can see the stars above, and Mon is by his side, and Wedge thinks that he’d like anywhere, if only she was with him.

“The river is one of my favourite places,” Mon says. Her hand rests in the small of Wedge’s back. “Especially at this time of night. I come out here sometimes, just to think. Spent a lot of time texting you from this exact spot, actually.”

Wedge lifts his head up to the sky. “I recognise the stars,” he says, finding the constellations the same way he did in all the pictures she sent. He thinks of all those late night messages, stray thoughts that crossed her mind, accompanied by a snapshot of her view. He turns his head to look at her, only to find she’s already looking at him. “Thanks for sharing this with me.”

“I’ve wanted to for a while.” Her fingers reach up, brushing Wedge’s hair out of his face and behind his ear. As her hand pulls back, her fingers graze across the line of his jaw. Wedge wants to lean into her touch, but it’s so fleeting, been and gone before he has time to reach up and keep her hand here. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Wish I was here for more than an evening.”

“You’re welcome to come back,” Mon suggests. “Or I could come and visit you. I’m sure I could find some excuses to be north of the border.”

“Not sure how welcome you might be, given how hard you campaigned for the union.”

Mon shoves him, playfully. “Wedge Antilles, don’t tell me you’re a nationalist.”

Wedge laughs, leaning back into her. “I fear politics may be a dangerous thread of discussion.” He shrugs. “Eh, I don’t have any stakes in that game. I’d like you to visit. I’d like to spend any time with you I could. I’d certainly like to see you more than once a year or so.”

“I’ll make it happen. Find a date. You’re really not that far away, really.”

“Scotland might as well be another country from London, honestly.” Wedge laughs. “I’d take another date.” He pauses, when he realises what he’s said.

Mon must catch his wariness. She reaches over, tangles her fingers in his, and speaks before Wedge can backtrack. “This can be a date, if you want it to be.” Her grip tightens. “I’d like it to be,” she says, voice soft and sweet, and so utterly sincere.

“Oh.” Wedge gasps.

She likes him. She wants this. Wedge isn’t the only one with a mess of feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. This evening has been exactly what Wedge has wanted to think it was.

“I want that.” The words are awkward, but Wedge reckons it’s a blessing that he gets them out at all. “I—” He forces himself to look at her, to meet her eyes. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now. I just… I didn’t want to put that on you. But I’d like to date you, very much.”

The words feel clumsy in his mouth. He hopes that he gets enough across that she understands, the way she’s always understood him.

“I like the sound of that,” Mon says back.

She’s smiling, and Wedge feels the tug of desire. He steps forward, bringing them closer. “Can I—” He inclines his head towards hers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Mon says, before closing the gap herself.

They meet and it’s all Wedge has dreamed of, in those quiet moments where his imagination got away from him. There’s nothing inherently spectacular about it, but it feels like home. It feels like they’ve kissed a thousand times before, but no less exciting for that fact.

It ends too soon. Wedge pulls back to look at her. Two bright spots of red colour her cheeks. Her smile is bright, reaching right up to her eyes. She looks giddy with it all. As is Wedge. He’s so happy right now, happier than he ever remembers being, filled with an infectious joy.

And so he kisses her again.

.

“I don’t want to go.” Wedge scuffs his feet along the floor, knowing full well that he should be responsible. It’s late. He’s tired. His friends are probably starting to wonder if he is coming home that night.

“Well, you don’t have to.” Mon cocks her head at him. “You could always come back to mine. My sofa’s free, if you want it, or I’ve got an empty half of a bed.” She blushes, looking away, a little embarrassed. “If you don’t think that that’s moving too fast.”

“You did point out we’ve basically been dating for six months or so, we just didn’t know it.” Wedge reaches in his pocket for his phone. “I’d love to, I just should probably check that my friends aren’t waiting up to interrogate me – which they will be – and let them know I’m fine.”

“You do that.” Mon squeezes his hand as he steps away. He dials Luke, given that it’s Luke’s flat they’re all crashing in. Also, Luke is unlikely to give him the full dose of grief. If he’s the one who actually picks up his phone.

Wedge listens to the line ringing, and prays that his exceptional run of luck holds. Luckily, it does. Luke lets him go with minimal fuss, thanks him for calling, and ignores the way Wes and Hobbie are heckling in the background. It leaves Wedge to turn back to Mon, with a wide smile. “I’m all yours,” he says.

“Excellent.”

.

Wedge wakes the next morning, in a bed that isn’t his own, a warm body along his side. He blinks his way to consciousness slowly, stretching out.

Beside him, Mon mumbles a noise of displeasure, and nestles closer to his side. She throws a leg over his thigh and an arm round his waist, determined not to let him go. Wedge lets himself lie back into it for a moment, enjoying the physicality of her lying beside him, knowing that its absence will haunt him later. He runs his hand over her arm, tucks his nose into her hair.

They lie like that for a while. Wedge doesn’t want to ever get up, to leave the comfort of her arms. But he has a train to catch. “Mon.” He pokes the soft flesh of her upper arm, as deliberately as he can muster. “Mon, darling, I’ve got to get up. I’m booked to get out of London by midday, because past me was an idiot who didn’t think this through.”

She grumbles, clutching him even tighter. “No. I’ll book you on another train. A flight. Whatever.”

Wedge allows himself to consider it for a moment. To stay with her, in this bed, ignoring the world and their responsibilities. It would be bliss.

But they’d only buy themselves some scant hours. Wedge has a number of things from his event yesterday that need wrapping up, and a weekend’s worth of chores to do. Mon has – christ, Mon probably has goodness knows how many things she needs to do.

“I can’t,” Wedge murmurs back at her. “Next time.”

Mon untangles herself from him. She stares at him, her red hair rumpled and falling every which way over her head. She’s lovely like this, Wedge thinks, unguarded and completely herself. “Next time,” she says. “I’m clearing three days of my schedule and we’re not leaving the bed.”

Wedge laughs, and ducks into kiss her.

.

Wedge ends up dashing across Euston station for his train, to where Wes, Hobbie and Tycho are all waiting in the first carriage for him. They tug him on a moment before the guard signals for the train to depart. “Sure hope your lady friend was worth it, Wedge,” Wes teases, as they make their way to their seats.

“She’s worth the entire world,” Wedge replies, not caring what amount of shit he gets for waxing lyrical over her. As they sit down, Wedge pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s got a text waiting.

**Mon Mothma**

Miss you already x

Wedge smiles softly to himself, knowing he must look lovestruck.

**Wedge Antilles**

Miss you too.

I love you.

**Mon Mothma**

… you couldn’t have said that when you were here????

**Wedge Antilles**

… sorry?

**Mon Mothma**

I love you too.

Call me when you get home safe.

**Wedge Antilles**

I will.


End file.
